The Endless Shift

Written by: Ally Bernales

Another shift done. As I step out of the office building, I feel the cool night air hit my face, but it doesn’t do much to wake me up. I’ve been awake for over 24 hours now—no, not because I was busy with something productive or exciting. I just couldn’t sleep. My mind wouldn’t let me.

It’s strange how overthinking works. You start with one thought, then another, and before you know it, you’re spiraling into nothingness. That’s exactly what happened to me. Hours wasted lying there, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. It’s exhausting in a way that no amount of rest can seem to fix.

Today wasn’t even that bad. The queues were manageable, no one yelled at me, and I got through my nine hours of work with just one hour of sleep. I should be thankful, right? But somehow, I’m not.

As I stand there waiting for the jeepney, I turn to look at the building where I’ve worked for more than a year. It’s funny—I’ve spent so much time here that it almost feels like a second home. Almost. But deep down, I know this isn’t where I’m supposed to be.

I’m proud of myself, though. Juggling work and school wasn’t easy, and I managed to pull it off. But I don’t want this to be my whole story. I can’t settle for this. I don’t belong here, in this repetitive cycle of work, eat, sleep—if I even get to sleep—and then do it all over again. I want to be somewhere that makes me feel alive, where I can find peace and still earn a living. But where is that place?

The question gnaws at me every single day. I keep thinking I’ll figure it out, but every time I reach for an answer, it feels like it slips further away. It’s frustrating. I need to change something. I need my mind to calm down, my body to recover. I need a break. But instead, I’m just... tired. Tired of everything.

The jeepney finally arrives, and I climb in, taking a seat by the window. As it lurches forward, I stare out at the blurry lights of the city. I tell myself, Tomorrow, I’ll figure it out. I’ll take a step forward.

But deep inside, I’m afraid. Afraid that tomorrow will be just like today, and the day after that, and the day after that. Another shift. Another night of overthinking. Another promise to myself that I’ll change things. 

I sigh, leaning my head against the cold metal frame of the jeepney. How many more tomorrows will it take before I finally do something?

image from: https://rb.gy/w6z40i